Better Off Running
by potidaea
Summary: "Have you suddenly gone full butch at a pub in Halifax?" is the quick text she sent to Caroline. The woman at the bar did not react, but she received a text in response nearly ten minutes later: "How drunk are you?" (Catherine Cawood/Gillian Greenwood, mention of Caroline/Gillian) PWP.


Gillian Greenwood had a shit week. She needed a drink. Desperately. "A pint. Whatever's on tap," then, as an afterthought, "please."

She looked around, taking in her unfamiliar surroundings. She went deeper into the city of Halifax to avoid her usual haunts. Sure, some familiar faces - bound to be, she supposed - but at least no one who wiped her ass as a baby (and was old enough to need his own ass-wiper soon) was there trying to hit on her. _Miserable old bastards._

The bartender returned and she accepted the dark ale with a smile. Finally, relief. After finding a small table, she sat in what was possibly the most ungraceful sober display for miles, spilling beer down her hand in the process. Shaking some of the liquid off, "Shit, shit, shit. My bloody luck." _I can shear the flock without breaking a sweat, but god forbid I put one foot in front of the other._

She let out a deep, exasperated sigh before taking a long sip of cold beer.

Pissed off Robbie, _again_. Fucked John, _again_. Screwed up at work, _again_. All things considered…disappointed her dad, _again_.

She always did this. Whenever things got too stable, Gillian would flee. Find the nearest escape hatch and run toward it at full throttle. Things were stable once. With Eddie. He was kind and loving and good until he wasn't. So, what was the point of waiting around for the other shoe to drop now? She learned her lesson. Don't fight. Flee.

Looking around the bar, people seemed happy. Happier than her anyway. Not hollow. Not so completely and utterly drowned in the shit of life that they've forgotten who they used to be before they stuck their toe in the shallow end. It didn't seem fair. Why should she carry all of this weight?

_Are they tired, too?_ She peeled her eyes from smiling faces, staring into the dark liquid as tears formed, watching the foam slowly shift. _Doubtful._

Another deep breath; another sip of beer.

Then, across the bar she saw her. Shit, Caroline? I didn't think she'd be caught dead here. She raised her glass in salute. In response, she received what could only be described as the physical manifestation of a grunt. _Snotty bitch. _

Then, she looked closer.

Thick flannel and unruly blonde hair pulled back into a haphazard bun. Strong shoulders, slumped. Eyes nearly glazed over as she drains a beer. Tired.

_Have you suddenly gone full butch at a pub in Halifax?_ is the quick text she sent to Caroline. The woman at the bar did not react, but she received a text in response nearly ten minutes later: _How drunk are you? _

Gillian continued to study the woman. This was not Caroline. Caroline was like one of her hens' eggs. Tough as nails, sure, but it only took the slightest pressure before she broke. Then, it was just raw liquid mess inside.

Not this woman, though. This woman was the real deal. It wasn't a smoke show to keep some prepubescent boys in line.

Suddenly a second pint appeared on her small table. She looked up, confused.

"From Sergeant Cawood, uh, Catherine," supplied the young waiter nervously, motioning toward the bar.

Gillian gave him a small smile of thanks.

_Sergeant? Does she know Robbie?_ Then, a sigh. _Fuck it. This week can't get worse._

She pushed the beer toward the other side of her table and gestured to the other woman as if to say, "join me."

She looked to consider it for a moment, then made her way over.

"Did you not want my beer, then?" Catherine said as she settled into her seat.

"Not done with mine, thanks; warm beer's shit so," she trailed off.

"Thanks."

"You bought it," Gillian reminded lamely.

"Right," Catherine said absentmindedly.

They sat in silence for a long moment, both lost in thought, until finally the policewoman looked up, "Shit week, eh?"

"Pure shit."

Gillian took in the woman across from her. She was beautiful. Rugged and war-torn, but still somehow soft. Her hands were rough. She could probably handle herself on the farm.

Gillian thought about Caroline. Understanding, protective Caroline. Since the night she spilled the truth about Eddie, her affection grew for Caroline. She began to wonder what sex might be like with the head teacher. But Kate meant too much…she wouldn't drag Caroline down with her.

But Catherine? Catherine was already down in the dirt with her.

She finished her beer in one big gulp. "Do you want to get out of here?"

If Catherine was shocked she didn't show it. "Where to?"

That is how Gillian found herself in Sergeant Catherine Cawood's bedroom, on all fours with her own underwear in her mouth to muffle moans as the police officer furiously pumped two fingers in and out of her wet core, toying with her clit.

In, out, in, out. So good.

Gillian rolled her hips back into two particularly rough thrust as the blonde rolled a taut nipple between two fingers, then taking the full weight of the brunette's breast into her hand to massage. _Moan._ She leaned down, her breasts brushing against the other woman's back as she placed frantic kisses and bites anywhere within reach.

In, out, in, out.

"More," was Gillian's muffled plea.

Sliding in a third finger was deliciously easy. "So wet." Catherine moaned, sinking her teeth into her lover's back before sitting back on her knees to watch as her fingers moved in and out of liquid heat. She was mesmerized; watching her fingers dip in and out, in and out…watching wetness drip down to cover the brunette's clit…hearing each moan as she went deeper, harder, faster.

She couldn't stop herself any longer. Leaning forward, she bit into the farmer's round ass…rolling with each thrust; sucking, licking, biting her way across supple curves.

Gillian moaned, nodding her head vigorously.

With that, Catherine gathered wetness on her thumb before slowly dragging the digit across her lover's asshole. _Moan. _She let the momentum of her thrusts create friction for her thumb…up, down, up, down…quickly creating overwhelming sensations for Gillian.

Pinching, massaging.

In, out, in, out.

Up, down, up, down.

_Fuck. So good._

With one deep - admittedly loud - moan, she came.

Unceremoniously, Catherine removed her fingers, flipping Gillian over to straddle her face.

"This ought to keep you quiet," she said before removing the underwear she had gagged the brunette with earlier, replacing it with the copious wetness that had formed.

_Fuck, I could get used to this_, was Gillian's last thought of the night.


End file.
